


Bounce Flip

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>…crashing and burning in Quidditch isn't the same as having to feel that raging loss of his faculties when Albus saunters by in a black pleated skirt and big kick-your-arse boots.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bounce Flip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Be Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/92222) by digthewriter. 



James has never been great with hexes. So, when he needs to defend his brother, he often throws his wand aside and just uses his fists instead. Wizards don't often see a right hook coming, after all. And it's not like he has to do it _too_ often. Or, well, he hadn't. A couple of detentions, smattering of Howlers… It's nothing James hasn't been able to handle.

What he can't handle are the bloody skirts.

Well, not in the way other people can't handle them.

And to Hogwarts' credit, most people handle them just fine. So, Albus Severus Potter wears eyeliner? So, he wears girls' blouses beneath which everyone can see his lacy black bras? So, he wears stockings up his slender thighs and skirts short enough to show where they stop?

It's not a problem. Al has a huge set of friends and acquaintances. His swishing about goes generally unnoticed or at least unremarked upon most of the time. It's a rare occurrence that James has to get involved. After all, most bullies are too scared Albus will poison their treacle tart if they make fun of him. The ones that aren't afraid of his potions skills are too thick to come up with insults beyond 'dirty queer' most of the time, too, which Albus is perfectly capable of de-escalating with an unwanted wink and a flash of his hairless midriff, leaving them stunned stupid.

But there are still some. More devious, more cruel. There are those that want to actually hurt him. Those are the ones James handles. And often a nose spewing blood is enough to curtail them. He's had to send a couple of them to the hospital wing, though – a broken wrist, some bruised ribs – when he lost control.

James has a problem with control in general. It makes him a bloody great Seeker – when he barrels full-tilt toward the pitch for a chance at the Cup. Who gives a toss if he busts his broom to pieces and half of himself, too? Well, his parents, but other than that?

Still, crashing and burning in Quidditch isn't the same as having to feel that raging loss of his faculties when Albus saunters by in a black pleated skirt and big kick-your-arse boots.

James is not a homophobe, mind.

No.

James is a different kind of bothered. And yet, it's still a problem suited to his fist.

Oh, he tries not to. He goes long stretches _not_ doing… that. But those stretches are usually filled with having to watch his brother flounce down a hall after a class, hanging off one of his bloody teammate's muscular arms, flirting with every other boy they pass. They're filled with James watching that skirt bounce and flip, bounce and flip, bounce and bloody fucking flip.

It's a bit maddening.

Especially when one is bisexual and not completely out and when one should never ever, under any circumstances of sexuality, fancy one's brother.

Albus, thankfully, seems oblivious. But the downside to that obliviousness is that he's often (innocently, of course) all over James, too. Not in the same way as the others. It's somehow briefer but closer – fleeting but impossibly intimate. From the outside, it looks like a joke. It looks like Albus being Albus no matter with whom.

From James' insides, it's like Albus reaches past his clothes and runs his fingers over James' skin.

From the space between their bodies – a space where perhaps a hair could alight and wedge – it feels scandalous and breathy and like time stops… before Albus moves away and it starts up again, too fast, and gravity increases, and James' cock is ready for whatever his brother just almost promised with arms around his neck and his sultry breath in James' ear chuckling, "Thanks for laying Beckett out for me. See you later." – a hot hand on James' stomach.

And while he's pressed there, that hand above James' belt and those lips touching his ear, Albus' blouse gapes open, and James sees the dip of his throat, hard sternum, the beating of his brother's heart and a few black hairs he's missed Banishing -- and one nipple, tight as fuck, reddened and irritated by the lace – before he's gone.

Bounce, flip, bounce, flip, look back and wink, bounce, flip.

And James doesn't know whether to wank or die.

*

It's Saturday, post-Quidditch, and James trudges Snitch-less back to the changing rooms. Bloody Slytherin Beater got him right in the shoulder with the bat and no foul called. James is cursing to himself all the way into the locker room but falls silent when he sees them: three from the Slytherin team surrounding Albus, whose back is to the lockers. For a moment, it looks… well, mutual. Albus makes no secret of his exploits and things more outrageous than a foursome have got back to James' ears.

But then the disgust in their voices registers; Albus' do-your-worst face is tight with fear around the edges.

James drops his broom and draws his wand. "Hey!"

If the tall one hadn't gone for his own, maybe James wouldn't have done what he did. If they'd just backed off his brother…

But James does do it – " _Sectumsempra!_ " – and the tall one does fall to the tile, bleeding everywhere. Just… everywhere. There's so much blood, and it happens so fast. James doesn't even remember where he learned that one. Some book about history. There is the vague whisper of his own father's name through his mind. But this is no hero's spell. James gawps at the scene he's created.

The others slip and slide on the blood, trying to get away. Albus blinks at James for a moment – stunned, maybe appalled – then he drops to his knees, ripping his stockings, or maybe they were already ripped. He draws his wand, runs it along the boy's shivering, shocked body. He whispers a sinuous incantation, and his magic seals flesh to bone, skin to skin.

When he's finished, he closes his eyes and points his wand up. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " The silvery-dark dragon he's had since fourth year roars away toward the castle, and it's only a few minutes – it must only be a few minutes – but it feels like a thousand ragged breaths that taste coppery in his throat in which James waits for the nurse and the Headmistress.

He waits, watching his brother kneeling there in the blood and water, eyeliner dripping down one cheek like a tear.

*

A month of detentions and no more Hogsmeade trips for the year.

And they owled his parents. He'd have thought his mum would be angrier, but it's Dad who's enraged. He came all the way from London to shout in James' face, still in his Auror robes. _'But you did it'_ is on the tip of James' tongue. A look from Albus discourages anything but obedient silence and his chin on his chest.

When Dad's through shouting, he sighs. He lifts James' chin with his finger. "Next time, _Incarcerous_ them." His jaw goes hard. "And then leave them to me." He smoothes James' hair tenderly, walks over to Albus and holds him close, whispering into his hair. He kisses Al on the forehead. Al rolls his eyes in James' direction. James can't bring himself to smile.

Dad leaves. James feels sick. James is both proud of and horrified by himself. He supposes everyone's reasonably horrified by him now.

Everyone but Albus, that is, whose green eyes are so full of love it hurts to bear the gaze, and James looks away.

*

Everybody's in Hogsmeade for the last trip of the year. NEWTs are soon. But James can't bring himself to study. He sits on his bed, book open beside him, but he's staring at the floor, into space. The silence is too deep and his thoughts scattered.

The knock comes softly.

"Come in."

Albus enters, closing the door behind himself. James frowns when he sees Albus' wand hand do a little flick. James may not be the best in Charms, but he knows a ward when he sees one.

"What are you doing here?"

Albus has always been a junkie for Hogsmeade; he'd never miss an outing.

Albus' answer is to walk on sock-feet to the side of James' bed and kneel. James can see down his shirt again. The bra is light pink, as innocent as a Valentine from a first-year. The skirt is Ravenclaw-coloured. It's still short, fanning over the tops of Albus' thighs.

"You should be in Hogsmeade." James' voice comes out funny.

Albus leans up, takes James' tie in one hand, and tilts his head. "Should I dress differently, Jamie?"

"What?"

Albus rubs his thumb back and forth over the gold stripe. "Should I put on a pair of trousers?"

"Wh-why?"

"Should I be more of a man?" He's neared. His breath is short, maybe scared. His eyes are dilated. But it doesn't look like fear. Not only fear.

James holds his breath.

Albus moves between James' legs, nudging them apart. "Should I, Jamie?"

"You should stay the way you are." James' voice is a strangled thing.

"The way I am?" His lips are close. James hears him swallow.

"Stay the way you are," James whispers, staring at his brother's lips.

"How am I?" A choked breath. "How am I, James?"

James gulps.

Albus inches forward on his knees.

"You're bloody perfect."

Albus gasps a little, thick black lashes fluttering. James angles his head and kisses him. Just a gentle, dry press of lips that means nothing at all. It means nothing until Albus parts his own, darts out with his tongue, and tastes James.

James groans. He forces Albus' lips to part further. He pushes his tongue hard into his brother's mouth. Albus shudders. He surrenders. He makes a small, desperate sound James feels in his teeth. Then he's clutching at James, and James is grabbing for him, too rough. James' hands feel big and clumsy against the small of Albus' back, dipping lower and fumbling to get the skirt up, to find lace – to squeeze.

Albus has James' tie open, his shirt… He moans when James' hands cup his bum. He crawls into James' lap, straddling him. He pets James' hair. Soft kisses now, searching eyes. "You think I'm perfect?"

"Shut it, Al."

James opens their mouths wide in a rough kiss. He hauls Albus in by his arse. Albus works his own shirt open; James feels pink lace against his bare chest when Al winds his arms around his neck. Their cocks press together through their clothes. Albus breathes in James' face. Their gazes meet; the intensity hurts. Al's head drops back. James licks up his throat and says against his smooth jaw, "Turn around."

A whimper, bob of Adam's apple, then Albus is turning in James' lap, squeaking the bedsprings, hiking up his skirt while James rips down his knickers with one hand, gets his own prick out with the other. He can barely breathe. This is so fucked up, he's shaking. Two fingers find Albus' arsehole slick and stroke over it. "Oh fuck, you're wet. How—?"

Albus shimmies his arse back until the head of James' cock meets his entrance.

"Jamie…" is all it takes, and then James is pushing inside, slow and unstoppable.

Albus sits back into his lap, stretched. He drops his head onto James' shoulder. James grits his teeth, holds Al's hips… They move together.

They stay close, James buried almost all the way. It's more an enthusiastic grinding. Albus' pretty skirt lies against James' hairy stomach. James runs his hands up his brother's body, finds his nipples under the lace and rubs them, flicks them, until Albus moves faster and faster.

_…nights lying together in one bed, listening to the hard rain…_

_Al's head on his shoulder, smelling of orange blossoms…_

_Kicking one another's shins under the table at breakfast…_

_Fights, jinxes, Christmas, stolen toys, hurt feelings…_

_…looking into one another's souls…_

James closes his eyes and finds Albus' salty skin, the stretch of his neck, with his lips, his tongue. "Stay," he murmurs there.

"Fuck me, James."

"Stay like this."

"Please…"

Hands to Albus' stomach. James can't quite touch his cock. He wraps his arms around, tight like when they'd sleep with their heads on one pillow.

"Yours," Albus cries quietly. "Oh God…" And he comes.

"Albus, Christ…"

Albus turns his head, finds James waiting, lips dry from Al's sweat. They kiss slow – a meeting of open lips and breath. James tenses and grabs Albus' hips, holds him down. He spills deep inside him, and Albus grinds back, one hand finding and threading through James' hair.

*

James doesn't know how long he holds him. He's still hard and out of breath as Albus eases off. James can't help but look – at the way his spunk leaks out of Al's arse, at how daintily Al pulls up his knickers and crawls off his lap.

James puts his cock back in his pants. He's buttoning his shirt as Albus fastens his blouse. One of Al's knee-high socks has slipped down his calf.

"Where are your shoes?" James has never asked a more daft question in his life. Who the bloody hell cares?

But Albus has always taken him seriously. "In my room."

"Oh."

Albus straightens his skirt – and James will never not know that he's been under it.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade now?"

_Are we going to Hell?_

Albus shrugs. "I thought you might need help studying for your NEWTs."

"You did?"

"That's not why I'm here," Al grins shyly, "but yeah."

"Why are you here?" James has never been great with hexes, but he could Vanish his tongue for that.

Albus bends forward to fix his sock, his skirt riding up in the back and showing pink panties, a dark spot from James' semen. James gulps. Albus straightens, looking at him. "Do you want to go to the library?"

"What?"

"The library?"

"Oh. Er… Yeah, I just… I need to…"

"Okay," Albus hurries to say, saving him. Saving them both. "Maybe later?"

"Yeah. Maybe later."

"Okay." Albus pulls his wand from the thigh holster he wears. He unwards the door and makes his way toward it.

"Albus?"

"Yes?" Hand on the knob. Eyebrows raised. He's full of hope and sweetness.

"After dinner." James takes a deep breath. "I'll meet you in the library after dinner."

A small smile wavers around Al's lips. His face relaxes. "I'll be there."

James smiles, too, even though so much of him feels sick. He feels justifiably rotten. And heavenly. And terrified of himself – for this, for _Sectumsempra_ , for how right it felt when Albus declared himself...

_"Yours…"_

His brother smiles openly now that James has smiled back. "See you, Jamie." He opens the door and walks through.

As the door swings slowly closed behind him, James watches his retreat.

Bounce, flip, bounce, flip, bounce, flip.

That 'yours' thing? James knows Albus has it backward.


End file.
